Wait, now I’m sending complete strangers photographs of cleaning products? Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Listen: It was all a stunt so I could talk about Spanish Town parades and Professor Fury’s great old modern house and, yes, apparently that’s all I talk about, ever. And I used cool stationary! That should count for something, right? Not to mention that the cold February morning light streaming in the Professor’s porch windows is beautiful; this was from the month or two I was really into that quiet, lonely light.
And yes, I just sent my June letter. On July 2. OH, THE SHAMES!! But listen: I haven’t shown you the amazing screenprinted bit of cotton I received from Nashville, with a lock and a key and the words FREE stamped upon. Couple this with an ancient, crumbling photograph of a building in turn-of-the-century Dublin and I will swoon.
Swoon like I did all weekend. It started around dawn on Saturday drinking flat champagne and ended at three in the morning after watching a Blue Mountain reunion show where they almost burned the place down. There’s not much else I could ask for in there, and it was scored to “Outfit” by the Drive-By Truckers, my new favorite song by a damn mile.
The Sandusky Review is burbling along quite fine and for those of you who’ve cajoled, jostled, called and just plain threatened, it’s on the way. The little essays ballooned quickly and instead of the six I planned there will likely be four—”False Metal,” “1200 Baud,” “Chevrolet Truths,” and “Swithblade Saturday.” Thanks for all the support.